


Dead Flowers

by TeddieJean



Series: Prompted One-shot Collection [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Drama, Friendship, Lots and lots of feels, Marauders, The Golden Trio Era, Werewolf justice, a little bit of backstory, earnest Remus Lupin, feelings fic, student-teacher friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2016-08-10
Packaged: 2018-08-07 20:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7729351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddieJean/pseuds/TeddieJean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Binns has never been one to make much of an impression; one particular boy pays attention in class and manages to take him by surprise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dead Flowers

_January, 1973_  
  
“Just a moment, Mr. Lupin.”  The boy halted at the door, gesturing for his companions to go on ahead.  They would do so, Binns knew; while friendship might at any other time have prompted them to stay, it was no secret that everyone fled his classroom instantly at the conclusion of every lesson, desperate to reawaken their brain cells.    
  
The boy alone was different in that regard.    
  
“Professor.”  He hovered before the professor’s desk, clutching his tattered books rather tightly to his chest.  Binns flicked his eyes up and down the scrawny figure and decided that Lupin looked rather washed out.  Evidently, the full moon was in approach.    
  
“I overheard you discussing last week’s assignment with Mr. Pettigrew.”  Binns didn’t bother with an introduction to the matter.  “You voiced concern that your essay on the Werewolf Conference of 1893 was not up to standard.”    
  
“Sir.”  Any other student might have shifted their weight uncomfortably; Lupin did not.  Binns eyed him appraisingly over the rims of his ghostly spectacles.    
  
“There is no need to worry,” he declared bluntly.  “The quality of your essay far exceeded all requirements.  Along with your satisfyingly thorough analysis of the Conference’s aims, your background information was impressively comprehensive.  Did you peruse the _Wizarding History of Classification_ for a more in-depth understanding of the Registration Committee’s reasoning?”    
  
“I did,” Lupin confirmed.  Binns nodded.  
  
“I thought so.  For instance, you alluded in your close examination of Warlock Marchbanks’s history of werewolf defense in the Wizengamot to _opius lupate_ , which — ”  
  
“ — refers to Healer Dentwick’s 1891 study of the poppyseed and its ability to dull the effects of lycanthropy, suggesting that the condition is not in fact an irreversible transformation from being to beast but a manageable illness.”  Binns’s translucent eyebrows lifted.    
  
“Precisely,” he agreed after a brief moment of scrutiny.  “In any case, your comprehension of and attention to the subject is evident.  You receive full marks, particularly considering that you were the only student to hand in the assignment at all.”    
  
“James, Sirius, and Peter handed theirs in,” Lupin was sure to interject on the behalf of his friends.  Binns’s eyebrows shifted even higher.    
  
“Misters Potter, Black, and Pettigrew displayed a level of proficiency that only you have ever managed in my class, Mr. Lupin,” he countered knowingly.  “While you clearly did not permit them to copy your work, it is wildly apparent that the entirety of their knowledge is due to you.  For that, Mr. Lupin, and for being the only student I have ever encountered who has listened to a single word I utter in this class, I will — bemusedly — grant your House a well-earned twenty-five points.”  
  
Lupin flushed scarlet.    
  
“Thank you, sir,” he mumbled.  Binns nodded, shifting a stack of papers and nodding his dismissal.    
  
“Oh, and Lupin?” he called when the boy had nearly reached the door.  
  
“Yes sir?”  Binns’s eyes flicked to the thin cheeks and heavy eyes.    
  
“Get some rest.”    
  
\- - -  
  
_June, 1974_  
  
“But they’re _dangerous;_ they shouldn’t be allowed to mingle with society.  They could _hurt_ us!”  Watching Lupin squirm lower in his seat with increasing unease and embarrassment, Binns regretted permitting this conversation to be held.  As it was highly atypical for his students to show the slightest interest in his subject, he had felt obligated to engage them the moment they had snapped to attention.  He only wished that their focus had been drawn by another topic.  Binns could hardly be accused of favoritism, yet he harbored a soft spot for the shabby, quiet boy who, if not more intelligent than his peers, certainly demonstrated a level of dedication to his studies that the others conspicuously lacked.    
  
“That will be quite enough, Mr. Avery.”    
  
“But _Professor_ — ”  
  
“Enough,” Binns cut across the protesting boy.  “This conversation has gone on for long enough.  We were engrossed in a review of the Being Classification Act of 1811.”  The collective groan issued from every student save the rather subdued boy in the back corner.  Ignoring their complaints, Binns permitted his voice to slip back into its customary drone.  Every once in a while, glancing up, he beheld the familiar sight of the drooling, dozing class, but searching for the usual exception to their stupor, he found that Lupin, while not glazed-eyed, was neglecting to take notes.  He said nothing, but for the remainder of the lesson kept one eye fastened on the boy’s closed, disconsolate expression.    
  
“Mr. Lupin.”  Today, the boy remained in the doorway, a frown forming troubled lines around his lips.  Binns watched him silently for a moment.  “I would like to extend my apologies,” he offered.  “That discussion reached an inappropriate stage, and I’m sorry that you had to endure it.”    
  
Lupin moved his head in a gesture that was neither a nod nor a shake.    
  
“I only . . .” he fumbled for speech.  His fingers fidgeted absently.  Patiently, Binns waited.  “I don’t like being wrong about things I believe in,” Lupin said finally.  Binns’s ghostly form shifted.    
  
“Perhaps — ”  He stopped at the sad smile tweaking the corners of the boy’s lips.  “Good day, Mr. Lupin,” he amended, with what he hoped was a sympathetic expression.    
  
“Good day, Professor.”    
  
\- - -  
  
_September, 1975_  
  
“Professor, I was wondering if you might help me.”  Lupin, a fresh gash parting his flesh from ear to chin, appeared in the classroom during breakfast.  He walked with a slight limp.    
  
Binns removed his attention from an essay.  
  
“Indeed?” he inquired.  Lupin nodded, shifting forward gingerly to present a permission slip.    
  
“I hoped to do a little background research for our assignment on the 1892 Law of Werewolf Segregation,” he explained.  “I wish to better understand the Wizengamot’s use of the dynamics of Animagi transformations as a counterpoint to Warlock Marchbanks’s defense.  The problem is, sir, that the library only contains books explaining the properties of an Animagus; the only book detailing the process of their transformation is in the Restricted Section, and I need a signed permission slip in order to access it.”  Binns did a poor job of concealing how impressed he was at the lengths to which the boy was willing to go to write a thoroughly-researched essay.    
  
One part of it, however, struck him as amusing.  
  
“I am, of course, willing to grant you my permission,” he agreed with a slight smile.  “However, I think it will be best if I give such notice directly to Madam Pince, considering it would be rather difficult for me to sign anything in this . . . form.”  Momentarily puzzled, Lupin searched his professor’s expression for the punchline.    
  
At the waving of a spectral hand, he understood, and teacher and student shared a hearty chuckle.    
  
\- - -  
  
_December, 1976_  
  
“Mr. Lupin.”  Binns no longer needed to summon the boy to his desk; Lupin had been remaining behind after class for more than three years.  This time, however, Lupin looked slightly abashed.  “I was only wondering whether there was a reason why you and Misters Potter, Black, and Pettigrew have not yet  turned in your latest assignments.”    
  
Lupin’s eyes darted sideways.    
  
“The full moon — ”  
  
“Was over a week ago,” Binns finished.  “You’re looking rather well, in fact.”  A hint of red crawled up Lupin’s ears; he rubbed the back of his neck embarrassedly.  
  
“We were . . . preoccupied,” he said carefully.  “Studying, that is.  The essay topic struck me as important, and I thought it deserved careful writing, so we’ve all been doing some . . . research.”  
  
“I see.”  Binns watched him for a moment.  The angry wound on the boy’s face had faded to a scar.  “Don’t leave it too late, Lupin; you wouldn’t want to turn an assignment in one week early instead of two.”    
  
Through his reddened cheeks, Lupin cracked a sheepish grin.  
  
\- - -  
   
_February, 1977_  
  
“Professor, I’ve finished reading _Wizengamot Conventions of the 19th Century;_ may I ask for your next recommendation?”  For the night after a full moon, Lupin looked unusually well; refreshed, even.  As far as Binns could see, he possessed no new self-inflicted bite marks.    
  
The professor nodded to a dusty tome waiting on the corner of the desk.  
  
“Thank you, sir.”  Without wincing at the weight as he often did, Lupin hefted the book into his arms and turned it to view the gold-embossed title.  
  
_Man’s Best Friend: A Historical Study of Werewolf Companionship During the Full Moon._    
  
Lupin eyed his teacher quizzically, but Binns didn’t remove his gaze from his work.  If he had, the knowing humor in his transluscent eyes would have been too easy to read.  
  
\- - -  
  
_October, 1977_  
  
Binns was no fool.    
  
Perhaps his position obligated him to speak up, but he refrained; they had managed it some time ago without suffering extensive damage, that much was evident, and at this point, there was hardly any point in turning them in.  His continued existence after death had instilled in him a very particular view of mortality and the risks one might be obliged to take with it.    
  
Besides, the boy was _happy._  
  
\- - -  
  
_March, 1978_  
  
His head passing harmlessly through his standing lamp, Binns jumped.  Lupin stood before him dripping water onto the carpet, a delighted grin upon his face.    
  
“It was wrong!” he declared happily.  Recovering from his astonishment, Binns blinked owlishly at him through his round spectacles.    
  
“Mr. Lupin, you are ruining the carpet,” he said cooly.    
  
“It was wrong!” Lupin repeated, retreating to the stone floor between the desks.  “That’s why, in retrospect, the 1892 Law of Werewolf Segregation was declared invalid; not because Warlock Marchbanks bullied the Wizengamot into the decision, as he was accused of doing, but because the basis for the law was _wrong.”_   Binns stared at him in complete bemusement.    
  
“Mr. Lupin, please elaborate.”  Forgetting the professor’s earlier command, Lupin stumbled back onto the carpet, flailing emphatically as he explained.    
  
“It’s been bothering me for _years,_ Professor, ever since you assigned us that essay in our second year; I knew that something didn’t add up, and I just realized _what._   The law stated that as ‘incontrovertibly vicious beasts who pose a threat to society no matter their state of transformation,’ werewolves had no choice but to live in segregation, but that was _wrong,”_ Lupin declared adamantly, “and the Wizengamot knew it.”  Binns blinked.  
  
“I beg your pardon?” he asked, miffed.  Lupin shot him the same look that the other staff members favored when Binns pretended he didn’t know that he was dead.  
  
“Healer Dentwick had proven a year earlier with his poppyseed experiments that werewolves could not be justly classified as beasts; he had submitted his research to the Ministry for study, but it hadn’t yet been released to the general public.  The Wizengamot had access to those files; they knew of the classification yet chose to pass the law anyway.  When they were forced to rectify their mistake later, they of course didn’t want to admit what they had done, so they pinned it on Marchbanks.”  Binns stared.  
  
“And what, may I ask, do you suggest that one should _do_ with this information?” he wanted to know.  Wide-eyed with the magnitude of his findings, Lupin brandished his papers wildly.    
  
“We could clear his name!”  Binns hesitated, uncertain of how to reply.  
  
“That is an undertaking of immense complexity, Mr. Lupin,” he decided upon after a moment of shocked silence.    
  
“That doesn’t matter,” Lupin declared recklessly.  “It’s the right thing to do.”  
  
“Mr. Lupin, I am of no doubt that your intentions are honorable,” Binns said carefully, “but have you considered that, being who you are, anyone to whom you present this information may be unwilling to give your findings any attention?”  Lupin stared at him for a moment, an unreadable thought in his grey eyes.    
  
Then, abruptly, he grinned.    
  
“I know someone who will,” was his mischievous answer; Binns sought to reply, but the boy had already leapt for the door.    
  
\- - -  
  
_November, 1980_  
  
_Mr. Lupin,_  
  
_My congratulations on the revised case; I’m certain Warlock Marchbanks will be ever grateful to you.  Ms Skeeter’s coverage of the issue provided a most entertaining read._  
  
_Should you ever wish to further peruse the history of similar Wizengamot conferences, I would be only too willing to oblige._  
  
_Regards,_  
_Professor Binns_  
  
\- - -  
  
_July, 1981_  
  
_Professor,_  
  
_The other night, reviewing my notes from our Fourth Year discussion of werewolf conventions, I came across an error in the information.  Werewolves, as of 1231, were not yet classified as part-human entities.  Instead, they were given the title Classification X, as the Wizarding World had not yet realized that werewolves in wolf form were in fact humans afflicted with lycanthropy, and had determined them unsafe to approach for study._  
  
_Forgive me if I am delighted by discovery of this misinformation; I believe that, even having left school, the need to catch a professor in an error never fades.  Of course, my regard for you is too high for me to consider such disrespect.  Perhaps the book we studied was misleading._  
  
_Lupin_  
  
\- - -  
  
_August, 1981_  
  
_Lupin,_  
  
_The mistake was in my conveyance of the information.  While at first unwilling to admit my mistake, I was forced to do so after seeking out the book of which you spoke and finding that, in fact, the information therein was just as you described.  Your satisfaction in having snagged the error is well-deserved._  
  
_As I am eager to pick your brain on the matter, perhaps we could arrange a meeting to discuss it.  I will be occupied until the school year begins, but a Hogsmeade visit has been scheduled for the weekend following Halloween.  Perhaps, if you are not previously engaged, we could meet at the Hog’s Head._  
  
_Binns_  
  
\- - -  
  
_September, 1981_  
  
_Binns,_  
  
_As employment opportunities are thin on the ground, I shall have no trouble clearing my schedule._  
  
_Until Halloween,_  
  
_Lupin_  
  
\- - -  
  
_November 1st, 1981_  
  
Though Hogsmeade was flooded with celebrating witches and wizards, Lupin remained at home.  
  
The note the ancient, fumbling owl delivered was unsigned, but the script of the Dictaquill was as familiar as the moonlight.  
  
_My deepest condolences for the loss of your deer friend._  
  
In his shabby flat, Lupin stared blankly at the parchment for a moment, unblinking.  Then, abruptly, he sat down on the grimy linoleum and howled with laughter until he hiccuped from the tears of mixed origin that streamed down his face to mingle with the dust on the floor.    
  
\- - -  
  
_May, 1989_  
  
_Lupin,_  
  
_I was delighted to hear of Belby’s recent invention of the Wolfsbane Potion.  The relief it will bring to thousands is a cause for celebration; I would raise my glass to you if I were able.  You have proved throughout the years to be a singular man with a deep devotion to justice, learning that it is not the beast without, but the heart within, that truly makes the man._  
  
_In the hopes that more men learn the same,_  
  
_Your friend,_  
_Binns_  
  
\- - -  
  
_September, 1993_  
  
The first thing Lupin did after the welcoming feast was traverse the well-worn passageways to the old classroom avoided by so many.  He had long-since lost the aching desire to see death supplanted with life, but he wished briefly, approaching the familiar desk, that he might grasp the ghostly hand in his and feel its grip firm and friendly.    
  
The hand was not tangible, but the conversation was deep and absorbing, and the long-awaited visit to the Hog’s Head well worth the twelve years it took to get them there.  Binns made a joke of his early arrival, recalling the man’s days as a student and how he had once turned in an assignment one week early; by Lupin’s standards, a week late.  Lupin remembered Prongs teasing him for it and briefly felt a sharp stab of nostalgia, but the realization of who he was sitting with dulled it to a muted pang.    
  
Prongs and Wormtail would never know it, but recalling the books slipped to him at the end of every lesson all those years ago, Lupin remembered that they owed this man their nicknames.    
  
\- - -  
  
_May 2nd, 1998_  
  
_Lupin,_  
  
_I trust you know by now that it was I who suggested your employment to Dumbledore.  You have certainly had a hand in the defeat of the Dark today, having taught young Mr. Potter a great deal through the position you were offered.  Even still, I cannot help feeling the slightest disappointment that Dumbledore assigned you to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts when I had finally made up my mind to relinquish my post to someone who was doubtless a better engager of young minds than I._  
  
_Realizing that a boy one has mentored has turned into a man, and to see that man lying dead before him, offers one a truly stark view of mortality.  That feeling is further exacerbated by the realization that the infant son of that man will someday too grow up, and someday too grow old.  With this knowledge, I feel, suddenly, at once ancient and very young.  I will not be seeing you.  I know it, for I have known for some time that you are the wiser man._  
  
_To know history as I do is to know the facts, my friend.  To examine it, to delve into it relentlessly, and to come up with one’s knowledge furthered because of it is to be wise._  
  
_In honor of a wise man, I raise my glass._  
  
_Binns_


End file.
